The little grub that speaks up can't be more than six sweeps, maybe six and a half at most, and it looks like they're all bones under the suncloak. But that's not what catches your attention; it's the fact their horns are painted all white, with maroon streaked across the tips like blood.

It's gaudy as anything, but you like it. You never thought about painting horns before: it must be a local style, and the idea is fascinating.

They step forward and then bounce up, and - they must have psionics, because they just stay there, just at eye-level. When they lean forward and tap horns, it's a little harder than the standard lowblood greeting.

"Hi! Hinnom," they say, and then they boop their nose to yours.

It startles a laugh out of you. Their eyes are big and baby gray, but there's maroon paint all over their face, and call it narcissism, but you've yet to meet a maroon you dislike. You have the best caste, because it's such a friendly caste. "I'm Pheres," you say, pleased, and for good measure, you tilt your head to touch one of your rostal horns to theirs as well.